


Difference

by AZGirl



Series: Musketeers - Season 2 [10]
Category: The Musketeers (2014)
Genre: Angst, Episode Tag, Episode: s02e07 A Marriage of Inconvenience, Friendship, Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-03-13
Updated: 2015-03-13
Packaged: 2018-03-17 14:43:52
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,032
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3533228
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/AZGirl/pseuds/AZGirl
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>D'Artagnan wonders if his hesitation had made a difference.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Difference

**Author's Note:**

> I hope Alexandre Dumas doesn’t mind that I borrowed a scene from “The Three Musketeers.”

**ooooooo**

_“This is on your conscience.” – Bonacieux to d’Artagnan, 2.07 A Marriage of Inconvenience_

ooooooo 

Hands lift a decanter of red wine off a table and pour a full measure into a waiting glass. A tiny catch on an ornate ring is sprung; inside is a reddish grain which is poured into the wine and dissolves quickly. 

The wine glass is carried across the room, the red liquid filling it unnaturally bright in a room filled with colorful tapestries. The hands offer the glass to a beautiful woman with red hair who is sitting, anxiously awaiting the arrival of someone she loves with all her heart. 

“Here, drink this. It will help you endure the wait.” 

The red-haired woman takes the glass and sips at the wine until there is no more. Once the glass is empty, it is taken from the beautiful woman’s hands and set upon the table. 

When much clang and clatter is made at the main gate, the non-descript companion of the red-haired woman slips out the room and locks the door. 

Several minutes go by and from the noises below, it’s obvious that the gate has been opened and several horses are entering the courtyard. 

From the room’s position, the now lone occupant is not able to see what is going on and she breaks out into a cold sweat in her anxiety over whether or not the newcomers are friend or foe. 

More time goes by and suddenly the woman hears indistinct shouting coming from another part of the main house. She tries the door and quickly discovers the door is locked from the outside. 

It’s only when the voices are near enough that the red-haired woman recognizes them. A smile which rivals the sun’s brilliance erupts on the woman’s face. 

“D’Artagnan!” she says, joy infusing every syllable of the name. “I’m here!” 

“I’m coming, Constance,” d’Artagnan says, picking up speed as he ran up the stairs. 

Moments later, Constance steps back in surprise as several men rushed into the room. Overcome, she sinks into an armchair, unable to get up again. 

D’Artagnan falls to his knees in front of his love and grasps her hands. His three brothers, weapons at the ready, move about the room intent on securing it. 

“Finally, you’re here,” Constance says, grimacing and dropping her head into her hands. 

“Constance, are you alright?” d’Artagnan asks, taking her hands and finding them ice-cold. He turned and looked around the room, specifically seeking one of his friends. “Aramis! Something’s wrong.” 

Aramis joins them just as Constance doubles over in pain, clutching at her stomach. They try to stretch Constance out on the ground, but she groans at the discomfort of being moved. When she starts convulsing, d’Artagnan begins begging Aramis to help her, but he keeps saying that he doesn’t know what to do. 

Then Athos, with a wine glass in his hands, steps closer. There is a stricken look on his face as he rubs some substance between his thumb and forefinger. 

“Poison,” he says. 

Aramis grabs the glass from Athos and smells the minute trace left within the glass. His face is pale when he finally meets d’Artagnan’s eyes. 

D’Artagnan shakes his head in denial at what is not being said. 

“Constance,” he heartbrokenly says and lifts her up from the floor to hold her close. 

“I thought…I thought we would have more time,” Constance says. 

Then, with a surge of effort, Constance lifts a hand and caresses d’Artagnan’s cheek. Anyone in the room could see the love in the dying woman’s eyes for the young Musketeer that was holding her so tenderly. 

She lifts her head. D’Artagnan lowers his. 

They barely touch lips before Constance breathes her last and the light goes out from her eyes. 

“No!” 

The room was pitch black and he could feel his woolen blanket under his hands. His heart was beating so fast, he didn’t think his chest would be able to contain it much longer. He rubs a hand across his face only to find that is damp with shed tears as well as sweat. 

He was alone, his friends were not in the room, there was no wine glass, and most importantly Constance was _not_ lying dead in his arms. 

He dropped his head into his hands and forced himself to calm down and slow his breathing. 

_It was just a dream_ , he told himself. _Just a dream. Not real._

He was in his room at the garrison and Constance was at the palace under the Queen’s supervision. 

She did not die. She is alive and as well as can be under the circumstances. 

With unfortunate regularity Bonacieux’ words continued to bounce around his head: _You’re doomed. I curse you both_.** This was not the first time he had awakened from a nightmare where Constance had died from any of a dozen scenarios that his exhausted mind had conjured up. 

When “Louise” had told him that she had helped him and Constance out, d’Artagnan had known something very bad had happened. So he ran. 

He ran as fast as he could through the palace. When he had barged into one of the state rooms, the very last thing he had expected to see was Bonacieux lying on the floor with a crossbow bolt protruding from his torso. 

He should have immediately gone to the wounded man’s side and tried to staunch the blood flow, but he hadn’t. Instead, shocked to see the one person who stood between his and Constance’s happiness, he had stepped back out of the room. He had hesitated. 

Someone else may have fired the bolt, but his inaction had most assuredly contributed to Bonacieux’ death. It should not have mattered who had been injured, but evidently it _had_ mattered. 

D’Artagnan surged out of bed and dressed quickly. Getting more sleep was out of the question until he had some answers. 

ooooooo 

By the time he was standing outside his friend’s door, d’Artagnan was seriously reconsidering knocking. 

Aramis had been preoccupied lately to the point that he could see a strain put upon Porthos and Aramis’s friendship. He was pretty sure Athos knew what was going on, but with Milady’s return, the older man had also been distracted. In fact, they had all been distracted to one degree or another, but he had noticed that Aramis had lost sleep because of whatever was going on. 

Having second thoughts about his decision, d’Artagnan begins to pace back and forth in front of his friend’s door. 

Surely, his question could wait until— 

Suddenly, the door in question opened and Aramis said, “Were you ever going to knock?” 

Aramis gently tugged on his sleeve to encourage him to enter. “Get in here before someone gets testy.” 

D’Artagnan took a quick look around the room. It was mostly dark, with only a single candle providing the light. On the small table next to the candle, a Bible lay open with a bookmark haphazardly strewn across the pages. 

He started to back out of the room. “I’m sorry, Aramis. I didn’t mean to disturb your time with God’s Word.” 

Aramis grabbed his arm and pulled him back into the room. 

“Do not fret, my friend. I was just reading the Book of James and reminding myself that there is a purpose to the trials we endure in life.” 

“Purpose?” he asked, knowing that any questions towards what trial Aramis was going through would be rebuffed. 

D’Artagnan also found that he was curious of the answer, since he had never known anyone outside of the clergy who was so knowledgeable about the Bible. 

“Yes, purpose. Like learning perseverance, something which I think you know much about.” 

An image of Constance quickly flashed through his mind. 

“I’ve a feeling that you do as well,” d’Artagnan said, not knowing why he said that, but feeling it to be true. 

Aramis bowed his head and ran a hand through his hair. 

“Ah, well…” Aramis straightened and said, “Where are my manners? Please sit and tell me what brings you here at such an hour.” 

Not wanting to push Aramis into confiding whatever is troubling him, d’Artagnan lets Aramis get away with the weak deflection. 

He sat on one of the two chairs at a small table while Aramis sat on his bed, picked up his Bible, adjusting the bookmark before closing the book, and replaced it on the table. 

When Aramis looked up from his task, he said, “I can’t help if you don’t talk to me.” 

D’Artagnan leaned forward to rest his elbows on his knees and hung his head a moment, debating his next words. 

He looked up and asked, “Would it have made a difference?” 

“Would _what_ have made a difference?” Aramis replied, looking confused. 

“Would Bonacieux have lived had I gotten there sooner?” 

Aramis paused for a moment before answering, “No; I don’t believe it would have made a difference when you got there. There was not much blood, which means that he was bleeding internally. Nothing could have saved him from such a wound.” 

D’Artagnan sighed in relief. He should not have hesitated like that, no matter who had been lying on that floor, but if his inaction had caused the man’s death, he did not think his relationship with Constance could survive. Bonacieux’ curse would’ve been fulfilled. 

“Why do you ask?” Aramis inquired. 

D’Artagnan sat up and ran his hands through his hair, wondering what Aramis would think of him after he confessed his sin. He almost smiled when he realized how apropos that thought was considering Aramis had once been drawn to the Church as a profession. 

“When I came upon Bonacieux… I hesitated; I turned my back on him. All I could think about was how it would be better for me if he were dead. Constance would be free of him and we could start our lives together.”— d’Artagnan went to stand before the window—“Just hours before, I had wanted to kill him and then…there he was – dying.” 

He turned back towards Aramis and continued, “But then I started to think about how Bonacieux had family, his work, his…wife. No matter how much I want to be with Constance, it would not have been honorable to just let the man die, so I stepped back into the room and tried to help”—he made a lazy gesture towards Aramis—“The rest you know.” 

“And that’s why you wanted to know if your actions would’ve made a difference.” 

“Exactly.” 

“d’Arta—” 

The Gascon gestured in frustration. “I get it!” 

Aramis stood. “No, I really don’t think you do. Did you pull the trigger?” 

“What? No!” 

“Did you ask “Louise” to kill Bonacieux?” 

“No.” 

“Did you try to help him despite your feelings about the man?” 

“Aramis, I just told you—” 

“Did you try to help?” 

“Yes,” d’Artagnan said, his voice barely above a whisper. 

“Then you should not feel guilty for his death. There is nothing you could’ve done that would’ve made a difference.” 

Aramis led him back to the table and made him sit before grabbing a bottle of wine out of a cupboard. 

Once the wine was poured and Aramis was seated, d’Artagnan quietly said, “Is it wrong for me to be glad he is dead?” 

“I don’t know about right or wrong, but it’s certainly understandable that you feel that way. You and Constance are now free to be happy.” 

The dream that had driven d’Artagnan out of his bed assaulted his mind and he shuddered as he remembered Bonacieux’ curse. 

_You and Constance. You’ll never be happy together. You’re doomed. I curse you both._

A hand on his shoulder brought him back to the present and he looked up into Aramis’s concerned face. 

“Are you alright, d’Artagnan? You suddenly went pale.” 

“I’m…fine. I was just remembering Bonacieux’ last words. He said Constance and I would never be happy together.” 

Aramis smiled. “Nonsense. Of course you’ll be happy together.” 

“You can’t know that.” 

“Of course, I can,” Aramis replied before cuffing d’Artagnan on the side of his head. “You’ve got three brothers and that will make all the difference.” 

ooooooo 

_The end._

**ooooooo**

**Author's Note:**

> **Bonacieux’ curse was lifted directly from the episode written by Steve Bailie.
> 
> RIP, Sir Terry Pratchett….. I just found out that one of my favorite authors passed away today. :’(  
> If you have never read one of his books, I highly recommend trying one – you won’t regret it!
> 
> Many thanks to celticgal1041 for the encouragement! :)
> 
> Thanks for reading!


End file.
